I guess that often times when you try to think about how you’ll feel in a hypothetical situation, you feel like you know yourself well enough to determine what you will say and feel. Though, I’m almost sure about this, you are probably wrong about it almost 100% of the time.

I knew this day would come with it’s inevitable final update from another time zone. I knew that it would be sooner than any of us could have suspected. I knew that any morning could be the morning; any evening could be interrupted by the news. I’d thought about it for weeks: what would I feel like, how would I react?

I’ve already cried. I’ve been crying since the weekend in San Francisco when I first heard that it was worse than they’d expected. I’d been crying since I read the words: “is not doing very well” and “if there’s anything you wanted to say… now is the time.”

It’s not like he hadn’t been warning us for years, encouraging us to tell his stories and to take his place, because, as he often reminded us, “I won’t be around forever, you know.” For some reason, I never believed it when he said that; I didn’t want to believe it, I couldn’t. Even now, it seems like some terribly awful joke that it’s even possible for him to really be gone.

There are so many tiny things that remind me of him. So many mundane, daily tasks or rituals that are somehow tied into the life of a man I only spent approximately 14-15 weeks of my life around. He was with me growing up; for week-long increments every year… Sometimes more than a week as I got older.

I don’t credit my coffee drinking habit to him, but I do attribute my actual enjoyment of a good cup of coffee to him. He would tell me to get as much done as possible while the coffee was brewing because when it was ready it was time to relax and enjoy the company of those around you, or to take in something simple like watching birds in the yard. He showed me how to play the ukulele, taught me a huge deal about the history of music, and shared a love for danny kaye. He always shared his breakfast and always gave me the last of the coffee. He taught me what makes a good story, the first verse of The Charge of the Light Brigade, how to pretend to be confident when performing music (even if you’re so scared you want to throw up), how to hunt the wily pink elephant, and how to smile even when things are getting tough.

He would want us to finish the coffee; he would want us to keep telling the stories; he would want us to smile, even when it’s tough.

He wasn’t my father, my brother, my uncle or cousin; he was my friend. I will miss him dearly and think of him often. It’s not very often that someone will impact your life in such a profound and simultaneously quiet way — but Al was one of those people for me, and I’m so glad that I knew him as well as I did.

(Source: icatchfoxes)